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􀀲􃈀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄡍 Man, 􀀲􃈀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄡖 Voice
THE JOHN HAMMOND 􀀶􃘀􀀷􃜀􀀲􃈀􀀵􃔀􀀼􃱉
INTERVIEWED 􀀥􂔀􀀼􃰀􀀶􃘀􀁗􅜀􀁈􄠀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄠀􀁑􅅊J. Hoffman
at the Cellar Door, March 7
In his interview with the Unicorn Times
􀀭􂴀􀁒􅈀􀁋􄬀􀁑􅅈 Hammond, a young white man who
was born and raised in Greenwich Village.,
says he's 􀀅􀔀􀁇􄜀􀁒􅈀􀁌􄰀􀁑􅄀􀁊􄩢 blues in the way blues is
supposed to be 􀁇􄜀􀁒􅈀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄠀􀀑􁄀􀀅􀕈 He attended a 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁌􄰀􀀐􁁶
vate freeschool in New 􀀼􃰀􀁒􅈀􀁕􅔀􀁎􄹃City and a 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁒􅈀􀀐􁁧
gressive college in 􀀼􃰀􀁈􄠀􀁏􄼀􀁏􄼀􀁒􅈀􀁚􅩓 Springs, 􀀲􃈀􀁋􄬀􀁌􄰀􀁒􅈀􀀞􁹨
his father is John Hammond, Sr., a fabled
record producer with Colum ia Records ;
yet he says his background as a bluesman
is in one sense 􀀅􀔀􀁑􅄀􀁒􅈀􀁗􅝵 unlike a lot of blues
guys. 􀀅􀕔 The funny thing is, he 's right on
both counts.
The emotional foundations of the blues
are universal. Every person has felt pain
tinged with anger and loneliness pervaded
with longing, and while poverty and other
social misfortunes will aggravate this 􀁉􄤀􀁈􄠀􀁈􄠀􀁏􄼀􀀐􁁩
ing, they are not requisite. Being human
is. As Brendan Gill has said, 􀀅􀕁Anyone who
survives to the age of three or four has
s urely suffered enough to last him a 􀁏􄼀􀁌􄰀􀁉􄤀􀁈􄠀􀀐􁀀
􀁗􅜀􀁌􄰀􀁐􅀀􀁈􄠀􀀑􁄀􀀅􀕁 Ameliorating this suffering through
a musical exilir called the blues becomes a
matter of emotional sensibility and 􀁐􅀀􀁘􅠀􀀐􁁳
sicianship. It was veteran Chicago blues
pianist Lafayette. Leake who said, 􀀅􀔀􀀬􂰀􀀊􀨀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄡧
gotten into big arguments with 􀁓􅌀􀁈􄠀􀁒􅈀􀁓􅌀􀁏􄼀􀁈􄡴
that say these white cats can't play blues.
I say they can - if they learn 􀁌􄰀􀁗􅜀􀀑􁄀􀀅􀔨
(continued from cover)
􀀼􃰀􀁈􄠀􀁖􅘀􀀑􁅴 the WARNER is back and hearty
congratulations are in , order for Michael
Schreibman and his local concert 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁒􅈀􀁐􅀀􀁒􅈀􀀐􁁴
tion company, New Era Follies, for having
he 􀁕􅔀􀁈􄠀􀁖􅘀􀁈􄠀􀁕􅔀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄠀􀁕􅔀􀁄􄐀􀁑􅄀􀁆􄘀􀁈􄠀􀀃􀍡and foresight to get the
WARNER Theatre on its f eets and in the
Warner
Dubut for 13th and E Streets all new
Warner Theatre Music Hall was Sunday,
March 28th and featured artists were area
successfuJs Emmy Lou Harris and the Earl
Scruggs Review - an evening with all the
excitement and dazzle of a fu1l-fledged
Hollywood extravaganza.
The WARNER, one ofD.C. 's oldest and
most elegant theatrical landmarks, was
erected in 1924 as a showcase for Vaude­ville's
circuit clowns and big band sounds.
Originally christened "The Cosmopolitan"
(a title determined too long for the mar­quee)
its name was changed to "The Earle"
Rolando Klein, 32, is a Chilean engineer
who left his country in 1968, studied film
at UCLA and last year finished "Cha􀁆􄘭-A
Prayer for Rain" , his first feature. Already
selected by Filmex in L.A., the New Direc­tors'
Series at the Museum of Modern Art
and the Directors' Fortnight at the Cannes
Festival, the film has more recently won
three prizes at the Virgin Islands Film
Festival: Best Feature, Best Director, and
Best Film of the Americas. "Cha􀁆􄘢", will
open a week's run at 􀁗􅜀􀁋􄬀􀁈􄠀􀀃􀍉 Inner Circle
Theater in late April or Early May, with
proceeds from the first day's ticket sales
going to the Guatamalan Relief Fund.
􀀅􀔀􀀦􂘀􀁋􄬀􀁄􄐀􀁆􄘧''was filmed in Mexico with a cast
of Tzeltal Indians who speak their own
language. After eight months research in
Yucatan, Klein found his location at
Tenejapa, in Chiapas province, near the
Guatemalan frontier.
With the president of this small
town of 2,000 inhabitants as translator, he
began to select his cast among the Tzel­tal
Indians, usually by talking to people at
the market place.
Mostly they replied that they did not
know how to sing or dance or play the gui­tar.
How then . (they said) could they be
actors? Once Klein had convinced them
that they could act in a film in spite of that,
a meeting was held with 20 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁒􅈀􀁖􅘀􀁓􅌀􀁈􄠀􀁆􄘀􀁗􅜀􀁌􄰀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄠀􀀃􀍡
actors and the screenplay was read to
them. It had been translated into Tzeltal
by an anthropology professor, but the
That Hammond has learned it well no
one in the Cellar Door audience doubted,
as he ran through his repetoire 􀁒􅈀􀁉􄤀􀀃􀌀􀁒􅈀􀁏􄼀􀁇􄜀􀀃􀍄Delta
blues and Chicago R'n'B, adapting the
latter into a country blues style while in­fosing
the former with excitement, rhythm,
and sex appeal. A self-taught guitarist and
harp player, he demonstrated mastery of
his 1948 Gibson 􀀋􀬀􀁆􄘀􀁏􄼀􀁒􅈀􀁖􅘀􀁈􄠀􀁇􄜀􀀃􀍴 tuning) and Na­tional
steel (open tuning, played with a bot­
􀁗􅜀􀁏􄼀􀁈􄠀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄠀􀁆􄘀􀁎􄸀􀀌􀰀􀀑􁄀􀀃􀍔 Tony Glover's words on Ham­mond's
1962 coffeehouse circuit jam ses­sions
portray just as aptly his guitar work
in March of 1976: "he was picking in a
flowing style, but with a solid beat cooking
down under and driving it along. He did
some fancy picking too, but the notes
meant something." The syncopated
rhythm of his playing- was textured against
his steadily stomping foot, and the fingers
of his 􀁏􄼀􀁡􆄀􀁉􄤀􀁗􅜀􀀃􀍨hand bent and choked the strings
upward as his right hand thumped .down­ward,
effecting an engtossing and per­sonalized
style. ·
His voice was earthy, soulful, mournful,
replete with Delta blues falsetto. Dressed
in all white casual sports suit with wide
lapel orange shirt and. sporting wavy
medium-long brown hair, he cut a striking
figure on stage. There was verve, a certain
tasteful flamboyance in his blues artistry,
well displayed in his spirited rendition of
Mose Allison's >'I Live the Life I Love (and
I L~ve the Life I Live)."
after Pennsylvania's former governor who,
during the hall's construction, became
treasurer of Stanley Warner's entertain­ment
empire.
Throughout 1the Earle's "variety" days,
which lasted well into the 40's, the theatre
became a virtual steppingstone palace of
stars. Bob Hope, Sophie Tucker, Benny
by Darryl Lee Clothier
Goodman, Ethel Barrymore, the Ritz
Brothers Circus and Roy Rogers and Trig­ger,
just to name a few, were among the
greats grac~ng the Earle·' s ornate stage
nightly. However, with the 40's came a.n
overwhelming popular interest in "the talk­ies"
and Warner Brothers began to use the
theatre more and more to display its latest
film releases. Needless to say, those en­dearing
in between act skits peculiar to
the variety stage were trimmed down con­siderably
and the large orchestra/ r,:horus
girl era was introduced to enhance the
plots of Warner's films. In fad, in 1945, it
(continued on page 21)
Indians considered it was "badly written"
and re-elaborated a good part of the dia­logue
in their own words.
They began rehearsing once or twice a
week, while 16 mm camera tests were be­ing
made. These showed Klein that his
actors were not camera-conscious for the
simple reason that their acquaintance with
the cinema was minimal, and they did not
associate the little machine with the
images on a screen.
Hammond's recorded output (see dis­cography,
below) has run the gamut from
acoustic blues to electric rock, but with the
exception of occasional forays with a back­up
band his stage act has remained consis­tent
over the years. His most recent album
features one side of him solo (sounding
remarkably like ,he does on stage now~­days)
and one side of him with a band, but
the acoustic sound is Hammond's pre­ference
and he hopes to embrc:.:ce it exclu­sively
from now on. This of course is his
option as an artist and represents a victory
for folk-blues purists , but Ham~ond's
voice is so well suited in its gutsiness for
Rarely does a group of performers, as
seemingly offbeat and unique as Living
Stage, gather the attention and support
that the value of their work would seem to
warrant. With no theatrical awards and
plaud,i.ts to judge by, it's impossible to
weigh their value on the basis of showy
plaques or Broadway productions. Yet
somehow Living Stage neither expects nor
deserves these conventional forms of
rcogmt1on. What they do is something
special, and their attitude toward their
work and the dedication it breeds has given
the company a sound reputation and thou­sands
<:>f loyal and loving friends.
- by Roger Glass
An improvisational theater company
JOing into its ninth year of activity, the
members of Living Stage bring to their
work a spirit that relaxes their "audience",
spawns creativity, releases imagination
and in the end earns .them their richest
. Chicago blues that it seems a sham.e that
his listening audience won't be hearing
·more of it in an electric blues context. (The
problem with Columbia's attempts to take
advantage of his great potential not only
for electric values but for rock'n 'roll is
that they should have had him singing not
Delaney Bramlett tunes, but those of Elvis
Presley.)
Yes, those white cats can play the blues.
Unfortunately, most of them-including
some of the highest grossing stars-never
have captured, as Robert Shelton put it,
"the tension, rhythmic drive, an~ emo­tional
anguish of the deep blues." John
Hammond stands among musicians black
or white as ohe of the premier bluesmen
of this generation.
Q&A
Q: You've got a recent album out on Capri-corn,
"Can Beat the Kid" ....
A: It's about a year old ....
Q: Is it solid blues?
A: Yeah, except for a couple of tunes that
are_ like blues: "Chatanooga Choo­choo"
for one, and "Can't Beat the
Kid" is an R'n'B kind of tune. That's
a song the producer of the album,
Eddie Hinton, wrote for me.
Q: Some of the albums you've done in the
last few years, "triumv.irate" and "I'm
Satisfied," were d~finitely moving
away from the traditional type blues
bag of your previous albums.
A: I found myself in a position with Colum- _
bia where when I signed with them, I
produced the album "Sourcepoint."
(continued on page 6)
reward, the warmth and appreciation of
those they touch. This spirit has found
its way into hospitals, schools, churches
and prisons, from Washington to Minne­sota,
and the verdict is always the s~e :
Living Stage is a valuable asset to this or
any society.
Conceived and directed by Robert Alex­ander,
Living Stage is the educational arm
of Arena Stage, working primarily with
young people in the community. Alex­ander,
who's been in theater for close to
thirty years, twenty of them working with
young people and children, holds ideas and
conceptions t~at he sets forth for Living
Living Stage
Stage, that seem almost to be an extension
of his exuberant character. "The whole
thrust of the work is to turn our audiences
on to their own creativity," states Alex­ander.
_;'We express and communicate
(continued' on page 18)
CHAK: A Mayan Film by Hans Ehrmann
Preparations at Tenejapa todk a good
four months, in the course of which the
director established a friendly relationship
with the community. Once his crew ar­rived,
relations sometimes became more
strained, particularly because instead of
eight technicians he wanted to work with,
he had to use 23. Even then he was lucky,
for Mexicans unions had at first demanded
that he work with 60 technicians.
One of the main problems was money,
particularly when the Tzeltals realized how
.much money was being spent on the film,
and that the technicians earned more than
they.
Wages of two and a half dollars a day
had been agreed on with the cast (except
the leading actors). This sum was .double
what they would normally earn. They
asked for a raise and obtained 4 dollars
daily. In the course of shooting (which took
90 days), further negotiations led to 4
dollars a day plus three meals and, a few
weeks later, to 4 dollars plus three meals a
day for the actors and their families. Finan­cial
discussions were friendly, but did not
prevent three strikes by the cast.
·However, there were other complica­tions:
On the very first day of shooting, Pablo
Canche Balam who played · the Hermit
slipped a hundred feet into a cave, twist­ing
an ankle. . The natives attributed this
to the caves being holy places one should
not enter without asking the Gods' permis­sion.
They asked for 19 candles, to pray
at the mouth of the cave and ask the Gods
for 11 clearance. 11 The props man had 11
large candles which he proposed ·cutting
in half to obtain the required 19.
The actors were indignant at the sugges­tion,
remembers Klein: "To cut a candle in
two was equivalent to cutting the God's
head· off and this would have been an un­forgiveable
sacrilege. So someone had to
dash back into the town to . buy more
candles."
On another occasion, a group of actors
was taken to Comitan, three hours by bus
from Tenejapa, in order to film a trek
through the jungles. There was a week­end
in the middle of the planned shooting
and Klein who knew that at Tenejapa there
was a fiesta had the actors promise that
they would not go home for the weekend.
The director knew that his principal actors
had accumulated so much money that,
(continued on page 16)

􀀲􃈀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄡍 Man, 􀀲􃈀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄡖 Voice
THE JOHN HAMMOND 􀀶􃘀􀀷􃜀􀀲􃈀􀀵􃔀􀀼􃱉
INTERVIEWED 􀀥􂔀􀀼􃰀􀀶􃘀􀁗􅜀􀁈􄠀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄠀􀁑􅅊J. Hoffman
at the Cellar Door, March 7
In his interview with the Unicorn Times
􀀭􂴀􀁒􅈀􀁋􄬀􀁑􅅈 Hammond, a young white man who
was born and raised in Greenwich Village.,
says he's 􀀅􀔀􀁇􄜀􀁒􅈀􀁌􄰀􀁑􅄀􀁊􄩢 blues in the way blues is
supposed to be 􀁇􄜀􀁒􅈀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄠀􀀑􁄀􀀅􀕈 He attended a 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁌􄰀􀀐􁁶
vate freeschool in New 􀀼􃰀􀁒􅈀􀁕􅔀􀁎􄹃City and a 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁒􅈀􀀐􁁧
gressive college in 􀀼􃰀􀁈􄠀􀁏􄼀􀁏􄼀􀁒􅈀􀁚􅩓 Springs, 􀀲􃈀􀁋􄬀􀁌􄰀􀁒􅈀􀀞􁹨
his father is John Hammond, Sr., a fabled
record producer with Colum ia Records ;
yet he says his background as a bluesman
is in one sense 􀀅􀔀􀁑􅄀􀁒􅈀􀁗􅝵 unlike a lot of blues
guys. 􀀅􀕔 The funny thing is, he 's right on
both counts.
The emotional foundations of the blues
are universal. Every person has felt pain
tinged with anger and loneliness pervaded
with longing, and while poverty and other
social misfortunes will aggravate this 􀁉􄤀􀁈􄠀􀁈􄠀􀁏􄼀􀀐􁁩
ing, they are not requisite. Being human
is. As Brendan Gill has said, 􀀅􀕁Anyone who
survives to the age of three or four has
s urely suffered enough to last him a 􀁏􄼀􀁌􄰀􀁉􄤀􀁈􄠀􀀐􁀀
􀁗􅜀􀁌􄰀􀁐􅀀􀁈􄠀􀀑􁄀􀀅􀕁 Ameliorating this suffering through
a musical exilir called the blues becomes a
matter of emotional sensibility and 􀁐􅀀􀁘􅠀􀀐􁁳
sicianship. It was veteran Chicago blues
pianist Lafayette. Leake who said, 􀀅􀔀􀀬􂰀􀀊􀨀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄡧
gotten into big arguments with 􀁓􅌀􀁈􄠀􀁒􅈀􀁓􅌀􀁏􄼀􀁈􄡴
that say these white cats can't play blues.
I say they can - if they learn 􀁌􄰀􀁗􅜀􀀑􁄀􀀅􀔨
(continued from cover)
􀀼􃰀􀁈􄠀􀁖􅘀􀀑􁅴 the WARNER is back and hearty
congratulations are in , order for Michael
Schreibman and his local concert 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁒􅈀􀁐􅀀􀁒􅈀􀀐􁁴
tion company, New Era Follies, for having
he 􀁕􅔀􀁈􄠀􀁖􅘀􀁈􄠀􀁕􅔀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄠀􀁕􅔀􀁄􄐀􀁑􅄀􀁆􄘀􀁈􄠀􀀃􀍡and foresight to get the
WARNER Theatre on its f eets and in the
Warner
Dubut for 13th and E Streets all new
Warner Theatre Music Hall was Sunday,
March 28th and featured artists were area
successfuJs Emmy Lou Harris and the Earl
Scruggs Review - an evening with all the
excitement and dazzle of a fu1l-fledged
Hollywood extravaganza.
The WARNER, one ofD.C. 's oldest and
most elegant theatrical landmarks, was
erected in 1924 as a showcase for Vaude­ville's
circuit clowns and big band sounds.
Originally christened "The Cosmopolitan"
(a title determined too long for the mar­quee)
its name was changed to "The Earle"
Rolando Klein, 32, is a Chilean engineer
who left his country in 1968, studied film
at UCLA and last year finished "Cha􀁆􄘭-A
Prayer for Rain" , his first feature. Already
selected by Filmex in L.A., the New Direc­tors'
Series at the Museum of Modern Art
and the Directors' Fortnight at the Cannes
Festival, the film has more recently won
three prizes at the Virgin Islands Film
Festival: Best Feature, Best Director, and
Best Film of the Americas. "Cha􀁆􄘢", will
open a week's run at 􀁗􅜀􀁋􄬀􀁈􄠀􀀃􀍉 Inner Circle
Theater in late April or Early May, with
proceeds from the first day's ticket sales
going to the Guatamalan Relief Fund.
􀀅􀔀􀀦􂘀􀁋􄬀􀁄􄐀􀁆􄘧''was filmed in Mexico with a cast
of Tzeltal Indians who speak their own
language. After eight months research in
Yucatan, Klein found his location at
Tenejapa, in Chiapas province, near the
Guatemalan frontier.
With the president of this small
town of 2,000 inhabitants as translator, he
began to select his cast among the Tzel­tal
Indians, usually by talking to people at
the market place.
Mostly they replied that they did not
know how to sing or dance or play the gui­tar.
How then . (they said) could they be
actors? Once Klein had convinced them
that they could act in a film in spite of that,
a meeting was held with 20 􀁓􅌀􀁕􅔀􀁒􅈀􀁖􅘀􀁓􅌀􀁈􄠀􀁆􄘀􀁗􅜀􀁌􄰀􀁙􅤀􀁈􄠀􀀃􀍡
actors and the screenplay was read to
them. It had been translated into Tzeltal
by an anthropology professor, but the
That Hammond has learned it well no
one in the Cellar Door audience doubted,
as he ran through his repetoire 􀁒􅈀􀁉􄤀􀀃􀌀􀁒􅈀􀁏􄼀􀁇􄜀􀀃􀍄Delta
blues and Chicago R'n'B, adapting the
latter into a country blues style while in­fosing
the former with excitement, rhythm,
and sex appeal. A self-taught guitarist and
harp player, he demonstrated mastery of
his 1948 Gibson 􀀋􀬀􀁆􄘀􀁏􄼀􀁒􅈀􀁖􅘀􀁈􄠀􀁇􄜀􀀃􀍴 tuning) and Na­tional
steel (open tuning, played with a bot­
􀁗􅜀􀁏􄼀􀁈􄠀􀁑􅄀􀁈􄠀􀁆􄘀􀁎􄸀􀀌􀰀􀀑􁄀􀀃􀍔 Tony Glover's words on Ham­mond's
1962 coffeehouse circuit jam ses­sions
portray just as aptly his guitar work
in March of 1976: "he was picking in a
flowing style, but with a solid beat cooking
down under and driving it along. He did
some fancy picking too, but the notes
meant something." The syncopated
rhythm of his playing- was textured against
his steadily stomping foot, and the fingers
of his 􀁏􄼀􀁡􆄀􀁉􄤀􀁗􅜀􀀃􀍨hand bent and choked the strings
upward as his right hand thumped .down­ward,
effecting an engtossing and per­sonalized
style. ·
His voice was earthy, soulful, mournful,
replete with Delta blues falsetto. Dressed
in all white casual sports suit with wide
lapel orange shirt and. sporting wavy
medium-long brown hair, he cut a striking
figure on stage. There was verve, a certain
tasteful flamboyance in his blues artistry,
well displayed in his spirited rendition of
Mose Allison's >'I Live the Life I Love (and
I L~ve the Life I Live)."
after Pennsylvania's former governor who,
during the hall's construction, became
treasurer of Stanley Warner's entertain­ment
empire.
Throughout 1the Earle's "variety" days,
which lasted well into the 40's, the theatre
became a virtual steppingstone palace of
stars. Bob Hope, Sophie Tucker, Benny
by Darryl Lee Clothier
Goodman, Ethel Barrymore, the Ritz
Brothers Circus and Roy Rogers and Trig­ger,
just to name a few, were among the
greats grac~ng the Earle·' s ornate stage
nightly. However, with the 40's came a.n
overwhelming popular interest in "the talk­ies"
and Warner Brothers began to use the
theatre more and more to display its latest
film releases. Needless to say, those en­dearing
in between act skits peculiar to
the variety stage were trimmed down con­siderably
and the large orchestra/ r,:horus
girl era was introduced to enhance the
plots of Warner's films. In fad, in 1945, it
(continued on page 21)
Indians considered it was "badly written"
and re-elaborated a good part of the dia­logue
in their own words.
They began rehearsing once or twice a
week, while 16 mm camera tests were be­ing
made. These showed Klein that his
actors were not camera-conscious for the
simple reason that their acquaintance with
the cinema was minimal, and they did not
associate the little machine with the
images on a screen.
Hammond's recorded output (see dis­cography,
below) has run the gamut from
acoustic blues to electric rock, but with the
exception of occasional forays with a back­up
band his stage act has remained consis­tent
over the years. His most recent album
features one side of him solo (sounding
remarkably like ,he does on stage now~­days)
and one side of him with a band, but
the acoustic sound is Hammond's pre­ference
and he hopes to embrc:.:ce it exclu­sively
from now on. This of course is his
option as an artist and represents a victory
for folk-blues purists , but Ham~ond's
voice is so well suited in its gutsiness for
Rarely does a group of performers, as
seemingly offbeat and unique as Living
Stage, gather the attention and support
that the value of their work would seem to
warrant. With no theatrical awards and
plaud,i.ts to judge by, it's impossible to
weigh their value on the basis of showy
plaques or Broadway productions. Yet
somehow Living Stage neither expects nor
deserves these conventional forms of
rcogmt1on. What they do is something
special, and their attitude toward their
work and the dedication it breeds has given
the company a sound reputation and thou­sands
f loyal and loving friends.
- by Roger Glass
An improvisational theater company
JOing into its ninth year of activity, the
members of Living Stage bring to their
work a spirit that relaxes their "audience",
spawns creativity, releases imagination
and in the end earns .them their richest
. Chicago blues that it seems a sham.e that
his listening audience won't be hearing
·more of it in an electric blues context. (The
problem with Columbia's attempts to take
advantage of his great potential not only
for electric values but for rock'n 'roll is
that they should have had him singing not
Delaney Bramlett tunes, but those of Elvis
Presley.)
Yes, those white cats can play the blues.
Unfortunately, most of them-including
some of the highest grossing stars-never
have captured, as Robert Shelton put it,
"the tension, rhythmic drive, an~ emo­tional
anguish of the deep blues." John
Hammond stands among musicians black
or white as ohe of the premier bluesmen
of this generation.
Q&A
Q: You've got a recent album out on Capri-corn,
"Can Beat the Kid" ....
A: It's about a year old ....
Q: Is it solid blues?
A: Yeah, except for a couple of tunes that
are_ like blues: "Chatanooga Choo­choo"
for one, and "Can't Beat the
Kid" is an R'n'B kind of tune. That's
a song the producer of the album,
Eddie Hinton, wrote for me.
Q: Some of the albums you've done in the
last few years, "triumv.irate" and "I'm
Satisfied," were d~finitely moving
away from the traditional type blues
bag of your previous albums.
A: I found myself in a position with Colum- _
bia where when I signed with them, I
produced the album "Sourcepoint."
(continued on page 6)
reward, the warmth and appreciation of
those they touch. This spirit has found
its way into hospitals, schools, churches
and prisons, from Washington to Minne­sota,
and the verdict is always the s~e :
Living Stage is a valuable asset to this or
any society.
Conceived and directed by Robert Alex­ander,
Living Stage is the educational arm
of Arena Stage, working primarily with
young people in the community. Alex­ander,
who's been in theater for close to
thirty years, twenty of them working with
young people and children, holds ideas and
conceptions t~at he sets forth for Living
Living Stage
Stage, that seem almost to be an extension
of his exuberant character. "The whole
thrust of the work is to turn our audiences
on to their own creativity," states Alex­ander.
_;'We express and communicate
(continued' on page 18)
CHAK: A Mayan Film by Hans Ehrmann
Preparations at Tenejapa todk a good
four months, in the course of which the
director established a friendly relationship
with the community. Once his crew ar­rived,
relations sometimes became more
strained, particularly because instead of
eight technicians he wanted to work with,
he had to use 23. Even then he was lucky,
for Mexicans unions had at first demanded
that he work with 60 technicians.
One of the main problems was money,
particularly when the Tzeltals realized how
.much money was being spent on the film,
and that the technicians earned more than
they.
Wages of two and a half dollars a day
had been agreed on with the cast (except
the leading actors). This sum was .double
what they would normally earn. They
asked for a raise and obtained 4 dollars
daily. In the course of shooting (which took
90 days), further negotiations led to 4
dollars a day plus three meals and, a few
weeks later, to 4 dollars plus three meals a
day for the actors and their families. Finan­cial
discussions were friendly, but did not
prevent three strikes by the cast.
·However, there were other complica­tions:
On the very first day of shooting, Pablo
Canche Balam who played · the Hermit
slipped a hundred feet into a cave, twist­ing
an ankle. . The natives attributed this
to the caves being holy places one should
not enter without asking the Gods' permis­sion.
They asked for 19 candles, to pray
at the mouth of the cave and ask the Gods
for 11 clearance. 11 The props man had 11
large candles which he proposed ·cutting
in half to obtain the required 19.
The actors were indignant at the sugges­tion,
remembers Klein: "To cut a candle in
two was equivalent to cutting the God's
head· off and this would have been an un­forgiveable
sacrilege. So someone had to
dash back into the town to . buy more
candles."
On another occasion, a group of actors
was taken to Comitan, three hours by bus
from Tenejapa, in order to film a trek
through the jungles. There was a week­end
in the middle of the planned shooting
and Klein who knew that at Tenejapa there
was a fiesta had the actors promise that
they would not go home for the weekend.
The director knew that his principal actors
had accumulated so much money that,
(continued on page 16)